


[untitled]

by Vana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:09:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/pseuds/Vana





	[untitled]

Just at the end, the deck tilted suddenly under him, throwing him clear of the rolling cargo, the sliding feet wet with rain. He found himself looking sideways at a milky skyline, the harsh ridges and stones suddenly, startlingly close and backlit by thousands of stars. A distant roar grew closer -- the water or the voices from the besieged castle? "Captain s-- _Father_!" His eldest son had grown up asea; "Father" was for home, but on his ship, "Captain ser" came quicker. But where were they -- land or sea or somewhere between? Davos felt the ship fetch up against a rock wall, still aware of water rolling under him, but faint from the impact. "Captain ser," Dale recovered himself. "We are here now."

Where was "here"? It was a dangerous mission, and it may have cost him his senses because he felt his son's hand strong on his arm, smelled the sea and a putrid vegetal scent from off it, and did not remember what they had come for.

"Storm's End, captain ser."

A second mate appeared, looked alarmed at the father and son, and stooped to awkwardly lift Davos from the splintered wood. The words echoed in the deadened pre-dawn. "Storm's End," repeated Davos carefully. But the rain on his face-- "It's not over," he said. Storms never ended, not on the open water, not in the life of a smuggler of onions and salt fish. Maybe a potato or two.

Onions, potatoes -- the smell, raw of dirt and wood; the starving soldiers. _Stannis_. Dale and the crewman, faceless and silent in the inky shadow of the castle wall, lifted Davos to his knees, then to his feet. Davos shook off the floating feeling. Storm's _End_ , he thought.

The little black ship pulled free of the tangle of jutting rocks and seaweed. The water was calm and Davos turned to his oarsmen, who were rowing to tread water but awaiting his command.

"Up to land, and we'll anchor," was all he said, desperately tired but somehow still alert. He would be the first to step ashore, with Dale at his elbow. He would be the first to approach the rain-slick, dark castle walls. He must be the first to speak to the sentries, with his voice roughened by wind and shock. He must be the first to see Stannis -- to hand him the first small bundle of onions, potatoes and fish -- with fingers wrinkled by the water and chafed by rope, and smelling of wet wood and salt and seabirds.


End file.
